


Walk The Earth

by Krasimer



Series: Don't Take My Sunshine Away [13]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Asian Character(s), Background Relationships, Backstory, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Deadlock McCree, Falling In Love, Forgiveness, Gen, Genji is a Little Shit, Good relationships for dad and adopted son, Growing Up, Hanzo and McCree do not get along at first, Headcanon, I'm sorry but Hanzo has prosthetic legs in this story. There's no way those are real., Implied Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Reaper/Soldier: 76, Implied/Referenced Torture, Japanese Character(s), M/M, McCree honey you love him, Meditation, Native/Mexican McCree, Prosthesis, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Spanish Speaking McCree, Takes place before the rest of this series., Very Implied - Not going to torture Hanzo in-story, Young Jesse McCree, Zenyatta helps Hanzo find his chill, don't make me sing that song from Hercules at you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-11 03:07:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7873795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krasimer/pseuds/Krasimer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do not feel pressured into anything," Zenyatta continued as if sensing it. "I am only here to help if help is wanted."</p><p>The golden glow of the orbs reflected in his faceplate and Hanzo stepped forward cautiously. </p><p>"I think it is a necessity," he whispered.</p><p>It started like a nightmare. Perhaps it was time to wake up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Dragon Brothers

It started like a nightmare.

The cowboy - The brash, loud, arrogant man who had somehow changed his ways and become someone worthy of knowing - had settled his gaze on him and flicked two fingers to the brim of his hat. "Howdy," he drawled like he was in any of the movies Hanzo remembered his father watching when he still lived. "You must be the new Shimada. Heard you tried to kill a friend a' mine once."

His fists clenched at his sides, the power of his dragons rippling under his skin as he barely kept himself from putting an arrow through the man's eye. 

"Welcome to the secret club," the man - Jesse McCree as he will find out later - patted him on the shoulder and brushed past him. "Try not to do it again. We don't take too kindly to folk who attack their own around here. Lost too many as it is, don't need ta lose anymore."

He stopped in the doorway, a sigh escaping him. "Even so, we do need the help, even when it comes from someone like you."

His - 

Shawl? Poncho? 

\- swung out behind him as he left, the spurs on the heels of his boots jangling softly on the floor as he retreats.

"Brother," he turned, an eyebrow arched as he came face to face with what was stated to be Genji. "I am glad you have come to join us," he continued, the bright green light that replaced his eyes going up in intensity as he spoke. "I see you have met McCree."

"He is...Abrasive," Hanzo allowed, his eyes trailing back to where he'd seen the other man disappear. "To say the least."

"He is a good man once you have gotten to know him," Genji's voice speaks through the mechanics, an unnatural edge to the sound. They fought, he controlled Genji's dragon, he has the eyes of a man he thought long dead. 

He was still unsure of what the truth of his continued life was. 

An Omnic could have been wired together with false flesh and a modified voicebox, but nothing and no one outside of the Shimada Clan could control the dragons. No Omnic, no man, no woman, nothing could control their power or their fury. Hard light constructs would not be able to mimic it either.

Left with one possible option that made his head reel and his heart pound, Hanzo nodded. "I am sure," he grumbled. "I suppose his manners are kept in pristine condition, having never been touched."

Genji laughed.

The sound was familiar, a thousand youthful days long since passed, days spent together in their home. The only childhood playmate the other, the only entertainment what they could pull from the moments between lessons. Genji had always laughed freely, open and inviting to those who would listen.

As he had gotten older, he had used that charm to take them to his bed and then the elders had-

No.

"You are well, I presume?" Genji motioned for him to follow, his legs making small noises against the floor. They were almost the same noises Hanzo's prosthetics made. "The trip was not too rough?"

"It was not," Hanzo answered vaguely, his eyes pinned on the walls. There was likely not a threat inside of the base Overwatch operated out of, but caution was always a necessity. Even if a building were considered secure, there was always still a chance of danger. A lesson learned the hard way if he were pressed into admitting it. "I am well, yes."

"Good," Genji's head tilted in a way that seemed pleased, as if he were smiling. 

"You act like an Omnic," Hanzo muttered before he could stop himself. "Your emotions are shown through motions like theirs are, you-" He took a deep breath, then closed his eyes and cursed in the native tongue they shared. 

Genji seemed to study him, his head tilted forward and cocked to one side. After a moment, he nodded. "There is a reason for it, brother."

"Your face is no longer...It makes sense."

"There is that, yes. But," his head made one sideways motion. "There is someone I would like you to meet. He has been...Helpful. It is the minimal description, the word itself too small to describe what he has done for me, but he has helped me find my path," he gestured down a corridor. "When Overwatch was disbanded, following the deaths of the founding members, I was suddenly on my own. McCree and I, the others as well, we had agreed on silence between us for our own safety. Our doctor, Mercy as her codename, gave us each one last checkup and then we were on our own. 

"The PETRAS act made our history dangerous if we were found. I was angry," he hummed, faintly amused sounding. "I was this," he swept a hand to encompass his entire body. "And I was alone once more. I had nowhere to go, I had lost everyone I knew once more. I traveled, I forced my limits, I foolishly wandered into the worst weather conditions and areas I could find. I tried to destroy myself by screaming at the world until it bowed before me."

Hanzo's heart ached in his chest. "You-"

"I found myself in a snowstorm, on a mountain," he laughed again, the taint of sorrow leeched from his voice. "In Nepal."

He knocked on the door he had stopped in front of. "When I woke, for the storm had become dangerous and cold and I was rendered unconscious, I found myself in the company of the Shambali."

"You may enter," came a voice from inside the room.

Genji opened the door slowly, sticking his head in first. "Master," he greeted, a half-bow curving his spine. It was the most respect Hanzo had seen his brother have for anyone in ages. As a child, he had not known better unless coached. As a youth, he had flouted authority and the rules set in place for them.

As a grown man in a cyborg body, he seemed at peace being subservient to someone.

"Ah," the voice was modulated, he could hear it now. Omnic, definitely. "My star pupil. Come in, Genji. Bring your guest with you as well, I sense there is something we need to discuss."

"Hanzo," Genji entered the room, held the door for his brother. "This is my Master, Tekhartha Zenyatta. He is a member of the Shambali, he has agreed to come with me in this venture. I have reason to believe, if allowed, his methods would be of a great help to you as well."

He closed the door gently behind them, crossing to kneel in front of the floating Omnic.

The orbs circling around his neck were faintly glowing, the lights on his forehead a brilliant teal, his hands resting calmly on his knees as he regarded the elder Shimada. "You have many worries," he said softly, his face unmoving but the lights flickering. "And much sorrow."

Hanzo felt the gnaw of guilt in his gut clench tightly. 

"Do not feel pressured into anything," Zenyatta continued as if sensing it. "I am only here to help if help is wanted."

The golden glow of the orbs reflected in his faceplate and Hanzo stepped forward cautiously. 

"I think it is a necessity," he whispered.

It started like a nightmare. Perhaps it was time to wake up.


	2. Dragon's Grief

He watched them flow around him like he was a rock in the middle of a river.

A deep breath made his body shake, but he was unmoved. The room around him was silent and still, the warm scent of the candles and incense filling his senses until nothing else remained. Outside this room, the quarters he was assigned, they went about their lives without him intruding. He was part of everything, but he did not have much to do with them.

The Omnic's voice echoed in his head, a reminder to calm his thoughts.

He remembered glimmers of sunlight off the surface of water, remembered training with his brother, remembered summoning the dragons for the first time. Their scales shone like the river in the sun, glimmering and glinting in an untouchable way. Genji had stood by him, had watched in awe as they had twirled around him.

A young child in awe of his brother.

Knocking on the door pulled him out of his meditation completely. "Enter," he allowed after a second of breathing to calm himself. Genji had told him of the rage he had carried, Zenyatta had mentioned seeing that same rage within Hanzo.

Unlearning it would be a process.

"I, uh," came the voice from behind him. It nearly made him startle to hear it, his hands on his knees clenching the fabric of his hakama almost tightly enough to tear the fabric. "Genji said- He found out- I had this whole big speech planned and now it ain't here in my head," the cowboy let out a sigh. "Can I try that again?"

"If you must," Hanzo turned to look at him over his shoulder.

"What I meant was," McCree ran his organic hand down his face, grumbling as he did. "Genji found out what I said and yelled at me and I realized I was bein'..."

"An ass?"

"A bit harsh. I mean, ya did attack him and all, but," he cleared his throat. "Weren't my place to confront ya about it. Ain't my business, he's explained some of what happened leading up to it, but I just...I was angry, and that don't excuse it."

Hanzo stood up slowly, allowed his hands to fall to his sides instead of clenching into fists like he wanted. "I am, I must admit, somewhat relieved."

"Yeah?" his scent was drowning out the incense, a nearly choking mixture of musk and cigars. "Why's that?"

"You approached me angrily to defend your friend. Despite the poor manners of it, you show loyalty to those you know," Hanzo paused, a small smile only showing around his eyes. McCree stared at him, his jaw somewhat slack. "I do not appreciate the words said, but there is a neatness to your method of defense. Subtle threat and protection all at once. I can appreciate that, even when it is aimed at me."

"Right, uh, yeah," McCree coughed into his hand, still staring at Hanzo. "I guess I can understand...That. Yer a bit odd, Shimada."

He glanced towards the back of the room, an eyebrow quirked up. "What'cha doin' in here, by the way?"

"It has been suggested that meditation is a place to start," Hanzo offered the answer quietly. "Perhaps Zenyatta may be of help to me in a way, calm the tides as he has done for my brother."

"I'll just let ya get back to that then," McCree faltered for a moment, his body twitching like it didn't know what to do, before he gave a short bow and left the room.

 

xXxXx

 

Outside the new Shimada's room felt like being able to breathe again, the atmosphere instantly calmer.

"Did you apologize?"

McCree winced, his shoulders coming up to frame his face. "Yeah, I, uh-" he nodded, looking just about anywhere but at the ninja in front of him. "I did do that, yeah. Even had a bit of a talk with him."

"Jesse," Genji chided, his arms crossing over his chest. 

"Now hold on there partner, you ain't older than me, you don't get ta scold me!" McCree pouted, leaning back against the wall behind him. "He and I had our talk, I apologized, said my piece. Had a big apology goin', what was needing sayin' got said."

"And how much of your apology was actually said?"

He let out a sigh. "Ain't much of it actually got said, really. He said he understood, I think? I know he's doin' some meditation thing, so I got outta there pretty quick to let him get back to it."

Genji nodded, a soft chuckle following the motion. "You do choose the best times," he laughed again. "You choose the best times to go do something. You've always had a wonderous sense of timing, my friend."

"Shut it," McCree grumbled, putting his hands over his face. 

"Was there not a time or two you walked in on-"

"I said shut it!" he hollered, his face a bright red. "Morrison and Reyes had no business goin' an' doin' that in the weapons storage, ain't my fault I walked in on them!" he groaned when Genji's laughter continued, his expression sobering as he remembered. "Kinda wish they were still here ta do that. Don't wanna see it, but it'd be nice to have them back."

Genji's laughter died away, his visor light dimming. "It would be," he said softly, sadness seeping into his tone. "All three of them."

"D'ya ever think about how we're some of the most senior agents of Overwatch now?" McCree's voice went quiet as he thought about it. "'Side from Winston, Lena and Reinhardt, we're what's left a' the originals. Torbjörn ain't comin' outta hiding, can't blame him, but without him, we're just the last five."

"We will do great things, my friend," Genji put a hand on his shoulder.


	3. Honor Resides In One's Actions

Sometimes, a mission can go bad in the worst way.

"Two hours ago," Jesse McCree grumbled as he clumsily reloaded his Peacekeeper, his organic hand steady and sure in comparison to the sparking mess of his robotic left one. "I wouldn't'a said that this mission was goin' anyway but good. Hell," he groaned as he dragged himself back to his feet, swiped the blood out of his eyes. "I would'a told ya it was goin' fantastic."

The ground around his feet was littered with shells and drops of blood.

His chest heaved as he took a deep breath, his eyes glinting in the sun as he whipped around the corner and took aim. With each bullet fired, each slam of the hammer against the body of the gun, another Talon agent fell. "Now?" he muttered as he turned, catching one of the enemies between the eyes, watched the body fall for a second before sprinting to a different spot to find cover. "Now I ain't gonna say such a thing. 'F anyone can hear me, backup would look mighty fine to me right now."

The comm unit he was using crackled back at him wordlessly, probably not transmitting his words.

His arm was near useless, he probably had a concussion, there were still swarms of asshole Talon agents finding him, and none of his teammates were able to hear him because of a busted comm unit.

Unless some god of some kind was up there and looking kindly down on him, he thought as he leaned against a wall and reloaded again, this was probably his last mission. At least this time he hadn't run into Reaper. He had enough problems to deal with without the smoky bastard on his tail. 

He heard footsteps above his head and slammed his gun back together just in time to get a shot off at the approaching enemy. 

The body fell back onto the roof, a wet thud he had long since gotten used to. 

"Well," he swallowed nervously as he felt in his ammo pocket. Three bullets left beside the fix in his gun. "If anyone can hear me, this is pro'lly the best time to say goodbye," he focused on the approaching figure coming towards him from the opposite roof. He took the shot, watched the body fall and go entirely still before he noticed a group of at least another ten approaching from his left. "Yeah, this is all gone ta shit. Anyone listenin', get outta here, y'hear me? That's a goddamned order."

On a team made of D.Va, Hanzo and Lúcio, he was the senior agent. If they could hear him, they would have to follow his orders.

The approaching enemies were closer now and he readied his Peacekeeper, stroking a loving thumb over the hammer for a moment. "Been a good fight for us, yeah?" he muttered to it, pulling the hammer back and getting ready to swing out and start shooting. If he was going to die here, he wasn't going to die alone.

Instead, an angry yell in a language he recognized but couldn't speak stopped him cold, made him flatten himself against a wall.

He'd seen Genji fight often enough.

About a half second later, however, it wasn't an angry, green-shrouded cyborg ninja who came running into view. It was, instead, an angry blue-shrouded samurai, twins dragons instead of one, a visible tattoo and a goddamned arrow. The arrow itself lodged into the forehead of the Talon agent in the front. The rest...

Well, McCree thought as he watched, now he knew how Genji had become a cyborg in the first place. 

Talon armor was no match for the supernatural equivalent of a pair of meat grinders coming at your face. He didn't think there was any sort of armor that _was_ a match for them and he could only watch in awe as the other waited until the attack was over before his body relaxed some. Panting quietly, Hanzo turned to look at him, his hands still clenched, white-knuckled, around his bow. "Lúcio," he began, his eyebrows furrowed down as he once-overed McCree, "Managed to strengthen the signal from your comm unit."

He marched over to McCree and stopped less than two feet from him. "I do not want to hear such defeat from you again, Cowboy," he snarled, his eyes shining with the same light from his dragons as his tattooed skin seemed to ripple like something was under it. 

"Yessir," McCree nodded slowly, blinking a couple of times. "Think my adrenial- Adred- Adreg- Fuck, think my brain is shuttin' down now..."

His eyes rolled back in his head, the final thing he saw before unconsciousness being Hanzo jolting to catch him.

 

The steady mechanical beeping was what woke him up.

An angry hum followed it, a hand sliding over his organic arm to curl fingers around his. "Jesse," came a voice he hadn't heard in ages, the same crispness to the edges of her words as she pressed the thumb of her other hand into his cheek, lifted an eyelid. He winced at the sudden light, his entire body reminding him how much he'd gotten hurt. "How is it that you are my first patient on the first day I am back with Overwatch?"

"Heh," he coughed, then chuckled. "Dunno Angie. Guess I just knew somehow, wanted ta make it special fer ya."

He could just about feel her rolling her eyes.

"Try a little less to make it special for me," she scolded him, "Now open your eyes."

"I really don't wanna," he grumbled. "Lights are bright and my head hurts. Anythin' you can do about either a' those things for me, Angie? Yer a real angel, I know you could fix one of them, if not both." 

The gentle swat to his upper arm was expected, as was the dimming of the lights. "There," her voice was somewhat gentler. "Now open your eyes."

He did.

Angela smiled at him, her lips full and uncracked. The last time he had seen her, they'd been chapped to hell and back, the stress wearing down on her to the point of self-damage. They'd all been going through a lot, but poor Angie had been the one to be given Reyes's body. The people in charge had thought that it was close enough to the time of death that he could be recesitated and she'd sobbed for days when it wasn't true. She'd given it her all, poor girl, but she hadn't succeeded.

"Y'look all pretty," he reached up carefully to press his organic thumb to her chin. "That fer me or are ya just in the habit a' lookin' wonderful fer everyone now?"

She rolled her eyes again, shaking her head as she play-slapped his chest. "Jesse McCree, you awful flirt," she reprimanded him. A moment of silence passed between them before she bit her bottom lip and looked out the door. "There is someone I am seeing, however."

"Shit, y'know I gotta meet them, right? They've got my favorite girl in their life, gotta have me too."

"I thought," came another familiar voice from the doorway. "I was your favorite girl."

"Well, you were my favorite little sister I never had," McCree grinned at the new arrival. "And really, Fareeha, you were kind of the one I didn't ask for at first, ya little troublemaker. Stole my hat and my boots, made me join in on tea parties and wear a dress a couple a' times..."

"I believe there are still photos of that, actually. If you want them," Fareeha crossed her arms over her chest, smirking when his face turned bright red. "I could produce them and copy them onto the Overwatch computers. All of them. As the locked background screen."

"Now don't you dare, little girl."

She stepped into the room, her stride even and steady despite three of her limbs being prosthetics. "Or what, cowboy?"

"...Give me a bit and I'll have a good answer t' that."

Laughing and taking his hand, Fareeha pressed it against her cheek, leaning into it gently. "I am glad to see you once more, my friend. I will have to leave in a few days, but I am glad your mission was completed before I left and that you were awake enough to see me."

"How long've I been out?"

"Only a handful of hours from what Angela has been telling me," Fareeha kept smiling as she slipped her other arm around the doctor's waist, a hand coming to rest on her hip. "As for having the person seeing our favorite medic in your life, you already do."

McCree followed the line of her arm with his eyes, an excited smile on his face. "Good fer you, little darlin'. Glad your crush on her actually panned out."

Her own face a warm red, Fareeha nodded. "I was assigned to a base with her as a consulting doctor. She and I recognized each other, got to talking about our shared history, I took her to dinner a couple of times."

"I may have been tricked into starlight dancing and music a couple of times as well," Angela added in, turning to press her forehead into Fareeha's cheek. "She knew my weaknesses and I let her use them on me."

"'M glad you two are happy," McCree laughed. "Anyway I can sit up, Angie?"

She reached to press a button, his bed tilting so he was sort of upright as he looked at the two of them. "There is something I wanted to speak with you about, however. It has to do with one of the new recruits, the archer."

"Don't," McCree's face went slack as he shook his head. "Angie, I already yelled at him, I apologized to him. We know and love Genji, he's another member of the young-person-in-Overwatch squad, but don't go chasin' after Hanzo for their past-"

"I was just going to say that he was the one who brought you to me," she raised an eyebrow as she pulled a chair over. "Genji already explained the, quite frankly, odd situation to me. Hanzo dragged you back to the transport on his own, explained to Lúcio what he had seen of your symptoms and damage, then kept watch over you when they brought you back to here. When they arrived, checked in with Winston, I was already here. I took over your care.

"Hanzo asked about you when I left the room once I was sure you were alright. He said something about respecting you and what you have gone through."

"Well fuck," McCree pressed his flesh hand over his face. "I'm guessin' he read my file."

"I would think that the eldest son of a Yakuza boss would be entirely careful to read files and form hierarchy in his life based off of respect," Fareeha added into the conversation. "It follows the pattern his entire life was based around."

"Huh," McCree sighed. "Don't think I'm ever gonna stop bein' surprised by him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Respect is a good start, McCree. Just let it happen.
> 
> Also, yes, I enjoy causing characters pain. If I don't break them then we can't see what they're made of. Like geodes.
> 
> McCree and Hanzo have a long way to go before romance and I hope y'all stick with me for that journey. Liked it? Hated it? Tell me in the comments!


	4. Balance And Harmony

He could almost feel the ground beneath him quake.

Perhaps, he thought after some reflection, it was merely a trick of his mind. His own fears made tangible and real and-

A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts, his hand retracting as if burned. For a moment, there was silence, as if the knocker were taking a deep breath, and then the sound came again. His hands moved before he could think about it, opening the door to reveal Zenyatta on the other side.

"Are you well?" the Omnic asked, the lights on his forehead fluctuating with his speech patterns. 

"I-" Hanzo swallowed his nerves down, buried them in the acid in his throat, willed them away as best he could. "I..."

Zenyatta's head tilted to one side as if the sensors that were his eyes could - Would - study him just as intently as any human. "I sense you are troubled," he spoke softly as if Hanzo were a rabbit he was attempting to coax out of a burrow. "Perhaps some fresh air will help. Sequestering oneself inside is never wise and will only lead to a lack of happiness in the end."

"I do not need your pity," Hanzo grumbled even as he nodded and stepped out of his room. 

"It is not pity, Hanzo Shimada, it is worry. I would consider us friends of a sort," Zenyatta chuckled, "Even if a friendship with you is...Difficult at times."

"Allowing others close is dangerous," he retorted, his father's words slipping out before he could stop them. "It is much better to be alone and be lonely than to be a friend to many and have your life ended by some unforeseen blade in your back," he stopped talking, took a deep breath before pulling the door closed and turning to walk down the corridor. "I am sure that Genji has told you some of what happened."

He still wasn't sure that was his brother.

"I have been told," Zenyatta floated along beside him, a faintly glowing presence of serenity and tranquility. "Very little of your own youth. Genji told me his story, told me that yours was your own story to tell."

Hanzo snorted, taking a step down a different hallway and pausing for a moment to let Zenyatta catch on to the new direction. "Then he has learned many things since he was a child."

"You still do not believe him to be your brother."

"...I do not."

"Why?"

It was an actual curiosity he heard, no judgment, no anger. The Omnic seemed genuinely curious, as if he wanted the actual answer. "My brother..."

"You have said yourself, the Shimada dragons cannot be duplicated."

"Yes, but-"

"And you have also said that he tells the same jokes, sounds similar enough to himself that it gives you pause, tells the same stories, have you not?"

"I have, this is a truth," Hanzo groaned, rubbed his hands over his face. 

"No other person in this world can control a dragon from your clan, yes?"

"Only a Shimada can-"

"Then why are you so convinced that your brother is not here to walk and speak and breathe the air?"

"Because I murdered him!"

His voice rang down the hallway in both directions, a taunting echo following the words as if to mock him for eternity. Zenyatta simply stared at him, hands folded over the cross of his legs. "Our clan was angry with his behavior, they were displeased with the way he acted in public. They said he brought shame to our family, dishonored our _name_. I was told I had to," he swallowed, his body dropping back against the wall as he tried to breathe normally. If his legs hadn't been metal from the knee down, he would have fallen to the floor. 

He wasn't sure he would have tried to stand again, would let his life come to an end on the floor.

"Had to do what?" Zenyatta prompted gently, staying where he was. It helped a little, the Omnic maintaining a distance between them. 

He swallowed, turned his head to the side. "I was told- Ordered. I was ordered to eliminate him. I was the heir, the honorable son, the one who was trained to take over the head of the clan once I was old enough. The Shimada name would live through me and I would erase the one who would bring nothing but shame to it. Genji," he closed his eyes, pictured his brother as he had last seen him, let his mind wander to a time before that. An argument, a fight over something as small as hair color. "Genji was never one for our family's ways. If there were something he deemed boring, he would find a way around it if he could.

"He was a better person than me," he continued. "He always was. They stopped allowing him to attend the meetings that discussed our business. Looking back on it, I suppose it was to do with his abhorrence of the practices being put into place. He was a selfish child but he cared for people in a way that many in our family had forgotten long ago."

Out of the corner of his eye, the just barely open slit of his eyelid, he could see Zenyatta's hands curled gently around what he assumed was an orb of harmony. The Omnic seemed to have decided he needed healing. 

"What of you?" he asked. 

"I was a selfish man. Genji grew out of his ways, I grew into mine."

"If it helps," Zenyatta's voice was hard to discern emotions from for once, an oddity when it came to him. "I do not think you were selfish. I think you were as scared for him as you were for yourself. I think you spent too long listening to the words of those who held power over you," he floated closer, one careful hand on Hanzo's shoulder, a light touch of fingertips on cloth. 

He remembered the scent of his brother's blood, the howling fury of their dragons as they were forced to fight.

It had been a surprise to wake the next morning and find that his dragons had not abandoned him for the slaughter of his own family. They had stayed, the tattoo on his arm remained unchanged. The world around him had seemed suddenly grim and gray, as if the life had been seeped from it, as if it were wounded and sick.

He had run from his clan less than three weeks later.

"If we may," Zenyatta drew him from his own mind once more. "I would like to bring us back to the original question. Why are you convinced that he cannot be your brother?"

"When we fought," Hanzo licked his lips, almost desperate for a swallow of the plum wine he kept in the gourd on his hip. "It was the last time I used my swords. I left barely enough of a body to be identified as my brother. He still was breathing when I walked away, but it was a certainty that infection would set in before he could be helped in any way other than a mercifully quick end."

"And if I happen to know the ending of this tale?" Zenyatta pulled his fingers back, returned them to cupping around the orb he still held. 

"What do you mean?"

"Perhaps it is my turn to tell a story. In honesty, you should have Genji tell you of this, but he is still worried about you. He has told me, many times, that his older brother tries to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Well," Zenyatta hummed pleasantly. "When he was a young man, he was a scoundrel. He drank to excess, found a warm body to take pleasure in when he could, did as he liked and as he wanted.

"This is, of course, how he has described it to me. I have no firsthand knowledge of my student's previous ways, you see," Zenyatta chuckled, the sound sweet and clear despite the inorganic nature of it. "When he was young, he was a Yakuza leader's son. Allowed what he liked and wanted. His brother was trained as a replacement for their father."

"Our father would have kept going as long as his life allowed," Hanzo muttered.

"Genji has said the same thing," another chuckle. "I find it amusing how alike the two of you are, for all your differences. I digress, however. You see, young Genji was approached by two men and a woman. They spoke of Order and Peace, of bringing a decades-old conflict to a, hopefully, peaceful end. The fighting needed to stop, they told him, and he was influential and unbound by family tradition. The second son is not the immediate heir, is not as important to traditions and rites as the firstborn is."

Genji had seemed distracted.

"So he planned. He set about creating rumors about himself, let others think he still behaved as he had before. He has told me, more than once, that their approach led to him feeling as if he had a purpose for the first time in his life. Overwatch, as it was when came to recruit him, asked him to help them."

A sudden stiffness in his manner that the clan had tried to instill his entire life. It had not matched up with the rumors he still heard or the signs he still saw of his brother's indulgent life.

"On the day you seem to regret, they were coming to transport him out of the area. It was dangerous for him to stay, he told them."

The Clan's sudden insistence that he _immediately_ eliminate Genji.

"There were signs of a threat to his life if he stayed."

"And then Death came to him wearing his brother's face," Hanzo growled the words out. "How is this supposed to convince me that the metal and skin amalgamation wandering around is my brother?"

"Because they left a communicator with him. You know the communicators we use," Zenyatta seemed to be smiling patiently, as he was in all things, his head tilted to one side. "They monitor life signs and tell the right person when there is a danger of death. There was simply a set of Overwatch agents close enough to rescue Genji when his device flatlined suddenly."

"Who?"

"Doctor Ziegler and Reinhardt, I believe."

Hanzo felt as if something had stolen all the air from the room. "I-" he gasped out the sound, tried to turn it into a full sentence before he clutched at his chest. He straightened up, his eyes watering from how little air he was getting as he continued to try and breathe. 

He gave up.

Allowing his body to move with barely a command from his mind, Hanzo fled out the nearest window, pushing it open and dropping onto the ledge, clambering up to the next one as quickly as he could. After a short time of climbing, he found a decently flat roof area outside an empty room and dropped himself onto it. No other entrances, out of sight for the most part and flat enough that he wouldn't fall off. 

Good.

He grabbed the gourd from his belt and pulled the stopper out of the top, taking a glance inside before swallowing some. He had a little more than half of the fillable space left.

It would need refilling after this.

 

When he woke up, he felt like a herd of horses had stampeded over the top of him.

What surprised him, however, was the sensation of softness beneath his head and the warmth over the top of him. His tongue felt dry and his skull pulsed, his entire body sore in the way it always was when he'd abused his limits. He put a hand over his eyes, dragged it back over his head to tug out his ponytail.

His hair was already down.

Blinking slowly, confused, Hanzo sat up, his stomach lurching and his joints complaining. He had slept in his prosthetics, that explained some of the aches. His hakama and his- He was almost entirely dressed, which explained some more of it.

He was inside, in a bed, which explained why he was not hurting from sleeping on a roof all night.

On the bedside table were a glass of water, two small pills, and a note. The handwriting was angled and hard to read at first, but it was from McCree. He'd pulled Hanzo in from the roof, he wrote, tucked him into bed after taking off his glove and pulling down his hair. McCree had written something about knowing those hurt to sleep in, but Hanzo frowned as he read the rest of it.

There was no mockery to it.

The pills were to help with the headache. The water was to help swallow them and rehydrate himself. If he woke up before the other man came back, he could go back to his room or he could stay where he was and 'Rest easy for a while'.

Hanzo blinked at the note before setting it down and picking up the pills and the water. He tossed them into the back of his throat, swallowed almost all of the water in one gulp. With that, he settled back into the bed, curling his fingers around the pillow and burying his face in the softest part of it. After a moment, he reached down and released the clamps of his prosthetics, pulling them out from underneath the blankets and set them on the floor by the bed.

That done, he fell back asleep.

The world could wait a little while longer, he decided, trying all the while to ignore the feeling of safety he got from the room around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am having fun writing Hanzo. Zenyatta is also fun to write, though I don't know if I have him right just yet.
> 
> Hanzo, honey, that's not how we deal with emotions healthily. 
> 
> McCree, you're a good egg, I'm glad you exist.


	5. Not Like The Stories Our Father Told Us

His room was quiet when he got back to it.

The first thought he had when he opened the door was that his surprise guest was gone, a thought that was proven wrong when he saw the wave of black hair on his pillow. McCree stood still for a moment, watched Hanzo sleep for a few seconds before he crept closer and gently took the water glass off the side table. With it in hand, he tiptoed towards the small bathroom off to the side of his room, filled it as quietly as he could before returning it just as quietly to the sidetable. 

The painkillers were gone.

McCree smiled as he crossed his arms over his chest. The guy was bound to have a headache, after all. He'd found the empty gourd-canteen-thing on the roof next to him. He'd been around enough to know that it was a container for alcohol. It didn't surprise him that much that Hanzo had chosen to go back to sleep.

What did surprise him were the two prosthetic legs standing next to the bed.

At first, he'd thought they were metal boots, some odd custom that Hanzo had picked up somewhere and kept. They weren't, apparently, because they had a pretty solid core. No room for actual legs inside them.

That hadn't been in the files about him and Genji had mentioned nothing about it.

Hanzo shifted in his sleep and Jesse startled back, mentally yelling at himself for standing too close to the samurai who would be able to feel another presence. Genji had mentioned that, Hanzo had apparently always been difficult to sneak up on. He'd sat with the man as he'd talked about some fond memories from when they were children. 

He forced himself to walk to the door, ignored the faint flutter he still felt in his gut at the sight of Hanzo in his bed. 

"Is there a mission?"

Jesse stopped.

He turned around, frowning as he did. "Not right now, and probably even if there was, not for you. You're in a bit of a rough shape right now."

"I am fine," Hanzo growled the words out.

The samurai was sitting up, his eyes squinted against the light in the room from the window. His hair was hanging around his face, loose and wild from sleep, and he looked...

He was just going to ignore how the man looked.

"You look beat ta shit," Jesse shot back instead. "How're ya feelin'?"

"...Tired," Hanzo's anger seemed to flee, his eyes dropping to the floor. "How long was I asleep?" he shifted, glanced from his prosthetics to McCree with an almost guilty look. 

"A while," Jesse shrugged. "Ain't a problem, I suspect you ain't been sleepin' most nights anyway. Figured it'd be best just ta let you. Zenyatta went and found Genji last night, told him that he had upset you. He figured it'd be best to let you be for a while," he crossed over to the window. "I'm just glad that, even upset, you still chose a good perch."

He opened the window, gestured for Hanzo to look out. 

"It's been a good place for me to sit and think before, I'll be glad to share it with you if you need somewhere ta go that ain't down with the others. Figure everyone needs a little time alone sometimes. Had a couple a' rough years myself," he shrugged, still looking out the window. Behind him he could hear movement, the faint noise of prosthetics being reattached. "I know what it's like to want to be alone fer a bit."

When he turned around again, Hanzo was sitting on the edge of the bed, tucking the hems of his pants-things into the tops of his prosthetics. "You're welcome to sit out there when you need to."

"This is your room."

He shrugged again. "Yeah, but I'm hardly ever here and I don't doubt that the roof needs a little company."

"...What?" one of Hanzo's eyebrows arched gracefully, his dark eyes pinned on Jesse. 

Jesse laughed, the sound fading into quiet after a few seconds. "When I first joined up with Overwatch, this was my room. First base I was in, they'd been here to handle some stuff in the area. I found out later that it was stuff dealing with a couple of international crime rings, but I wasn't concerned with that when I joined. I was more upset about bein' dragged in, kicked and screamed the entire way. I was...Damn, must've been sixteen or so? I sat in the holding cells for a few days and then the interrogation room for another week after that."

Hanzo blinked slowly, confusion obvious in his eyes. "Why would they treat you like a criminal?"

"I _was_ one," Jesse moved over to the chair sitting against the wall and plopped down into it. "I was a member of a gang. Pretty bad group a' people, did some things that would'a made my abuela roll in her grave if she'd known. Well," he held up his left arm. "Guess I kind of made up for some of that when I ran into my 'Old Friends' again."

"How so?"

"Darlin', this arm ain't flesh and blood no more. Here," he rapped his knuckles against it. "Lost it in a shootout on a mission when I was twenty-six. More'n twenty years ago, 'bout a year before..."

"Before what?" Hanzo sat up straighter, noticed the glass of water on the side table and took it carefully in his hands. Jesse didn't envy the headache the man probably still had. He knew from experience that some types of alcohol just wrecked complete hell on your body and from the smell of what Hanzo had been drinking, it was one of those. "You speak as if you lost something else."

"We did. Someone. We lost a couple a' someones."

The room went still as Hanzo watched him. "If I may ask, who?"

"Overwatch was founded by three soldiers. Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison, Ana Amari. Best and the brightest, strongest of the bunch, Jack and Gabriel were part of the super-soldier program from a while back. Amari was just," he breathed in carefully, like he was hurt. "Amari was just a soldier, but she was the best damned sniper I'd ever met. Before I knew her, I'd handled my Peacekeeper pretty well but after I met her it was like I'd just been bangin' around not knowin' anything.

"She's the one that taught me how to aim so damn precise with it. She could'a shot the fleas off've a dog from a mile away and she knew how good she was," he grinned, his eyes focused on something far away and long since gone. "She was killed during a mission. Enemy sniper took her out. Couple a' months later, Reyes and Morrison got into some big fight and brought a building down on top of them. Reyes's body was recovered, Morrison's never was. Had a funeral fer both a' them, had to sit next to Reinhardt and pretend it weren't killing me inside. Press goes after yer weaknesses, afterall. Had to keep a straight face."

Jesse sighed, coming back to the present, rubbed a hand roughly down his face. "I guess what I'm trying to say with all of this is that climbin' down the neck of a bottle seems good in theory. I certainly did do that, ain't somethin' I can scold you for doin'. I dunno, just seems like a good time to say that it's nice to have a couple a' friends around."

He stood up, stretched his arms over his head and groaned with the movement. "I don't really know where I'm goin' with my story tellin', so I'm just gonna leave you with that. When you're feelin' up to it, there's food in the kitchen with your name on it," he wandered to the door, about to open it when Hanzo called his name. "Yeah?"

"...Thank you," Hanzo frowned, his eyes searching McCree's back. "I suppose we are not all that different, in the end."

"Suppose not," Jesse gave him a smile, crooked and imperfect and sad. "Just don't do what I did, a'right? Ain't a good idea to drop yer friends all sudden and startling and never find 'em again. You never know when it's your last moment with them."

He left the room as quietly as he had entered, never seeing the faint blush of red across Hanzo's cheeks as he stared after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooooo...
> 
> We're about eight months behind the first part of this series in this section. Just so we're all clear on the timeline of it.
> 
> Hanzo and Jesse are both having attraction issues. I'm having fun writing this.


	6. Two Great Dragon Brothers

When he made it back to his own room, he discovered that his gourd was missing.

Funny he hadn't noticed it before, but it was no longer hanging from his belt. It needed a refill anyway, but he hadn't noticed the loss of it until he was in his own room. The cowboy had been interesting, distracting, a mixture of curious and confusing. 

His stories were painful.

The man's eyes had been filled with an old sort of grief, a loss of people he had once considered family. It was an added explanation for his protective nature when it came to Genji. His own brother was one of the few McCree had left.

There was also the knowledge of Overwatch having torn itself apart from within. 

He had been gone from his room so long for having been looking into it. The computers had provided him with the means to look into the history of the people he now worked with. The story behind the explosion was still unclear nearly two decades later but from what he could find...

Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison had been the two originally in charge. They had shared their leadership until a promotion had put Morrison above Reyes. 

Some of the news articles he had found had suggested that maybe, with two qualified candidates, it was something more sinister than a better-trained man. Image search revealed photos of Morrison giving speeches to large crowds, an annoyed looking man with darker skin standing back and to his right. With the name 'Gabriel Reyes' under the photo, he could very easily see how it could have happened. 

Given two almost identical choices, both well trained, both thrown into the same war, the same super-soldier program, the same missions, the UN had gone with the white man. 

Jack Morrison had been born and raised in Indiana, Gabriel Reyes had been born and raised in Los Angeles. The caucasian male raised in a decently well off family versus the latino male raised in a lower class family is a fairly poor area of Los Angeles.

Hanzo sighed and rubbed at his eyes with one hand.

_We lost a couple a' someones._

It ran through his head on a loop, the words a vicious firestarter to the already heated memories in his mind. The look on Genji's face when he had pulled out his swords, the way he had kept begging his older brother to stop fighting him. Genji had never struck back, had merely raised his sword to fend off the blows. It had been a heart-shattering thing but at the time he had thought he was doing what was best.

He knelt before his altar, lit the waiting sticks of incense and settled in to meditate.

Perhaps it was a good change, to have lost track of his gourd.

The air was warm and almost sweet smelling soon enough, the bitter tang of smoke hiding underneath. The day he had killed- nearly killed...

The day he had raised his weapons against his brother.

It was a day that would be burned into is memory, even if he lived to be a thousand years old. He closed his eyes, his chin angling downwards as he remembered. Genji had been panicked as if he were a child once more and the darkness in his room had scared him again. Hanzo had always gone to his aid, fought imaginary monsters back into the shadows they had come from. 

His dragons had made themselves known on one such night.

Genji had been eight, growing mature and aware of his position in the world but still so young. Too young to be left alone, still too scared of the darkness to sleep easily. Once more, at the age of twelve, Hanzo had answered the frightened call. In the midst of pretending to battle a shadow oni, he had felt something rush through him, a surge of power like touching lightning.

It had ached to the very core of his being, a pain that had reverberated beyond his body and into his very soul. When the pain passed, there had been two small dragons wrapped around his shoulders and back, peeking out from underneath his hair. For a moment, not a one of the four beings in the room had moved until Genji had laughed and clapped joyfully. When allowed, Hanzo had moved closer to him and allowed him to run careful fingers over their spines, the dragons preening the entire time.

The two of them had stayed together that night, Genji doing his absolute best to summon a dragon of his own.

The next morning had seen them separated for their lessons for the first time since they had started them. Their father had taken the day to personally train Hanzo, had tried to get him to fight and summon them.

Dragons were stubborn creatures, he had said, they need a good reason to appear. Silliness was no reason, they must have simply felt kind in that moment. Sparring had produced nothing beyond frustration on both Shimada's parts, Hanzo barely more than a child whose annoyance at the proceedings had built upon itself.

For a moment, in the middle of the match against his father, he had paused and closed his eyes.

The thrum of the dragons' power in his chest made him feel safe, a pair of swords crafted specifically for his small hands in each fist as he breathed. He remembered the feeling of protectiveness in his chest, the happiness at seeing his younger brother safe and sound and unafraid. The darkness hadn't seemed so looming when they were together.

Just before his father's sword would have struck, he raised both of his own and lashed out with them, a thick blue trail of _power_ streaming out from each one. The snarling mouths and brilliant eyes were barely discernible, but they were there.

The resulting blast had nearly leveled the part of the garden they were in.

Instead of being angry, his father had smiled and pressed a hand against his shoulder. "Well done," he had whispered.

_We lost a couple a' someones._

Like the beat of a heart, the words kept repeating in his head as he wandered through his memories. Perhaps clearing his mind was not the best first step. Ignoring what was and what had been in favor of having a serenely empty mind was...

He breathed out slowly, his fingers curling tightly in the fabric of his hakama. 

Perhaps Zenyatta would forgive a slight deviation from his teachings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehe...Uh...
> 
> Morrison being promoted over Reyes was a racial thing. Fight me on this if you want, but that's what I can see of it. 
> 
> (Hanzo would go through all the files to find out who he allied with this time. You know he would.)


	7. Duty And Burden

With all the meditation and prayer and the like that Hanzo was doing, Jesse was starting to get the feeling that the man was trying to avoid him.

"My brother is a very private person," Genji assured him, the tilt of his head a small smile in his body language. "He always has been. I suspect he always will be, even with those closest to him," he jerked his chin towards Jesse, settling his sword back into the sheath and closing the jar of polish. "And you are very strange to get used to, my friend."

"What in the hell's that s'posed ta mean?"

"It means, simply, that you are something new. Easy to talk to," Genji chuckled. "Even when we do not wish to speak. You do remember meeting me for the first time, yes?"

"You tried taking my other arm off," Jesse grinned. "Commander nearly took yer head off for it, I jus' laughed and introduced myself. Later that night, you were sitting next ta me and practicing somethin'. When I asked about it, I think you might've been swearing up a storm in Japanese at me."

Genji nodded, rising from his seated position and stretching slowly. "I was."

His voice sounded, even modulated, as if he were grinning behind his mask. After a moment, he let his body relax again, his voice going soft on the memories being spoken of. "This is the second time you have brought _them_ up in three weeks, my friend. Is everything alright?"

Jesse paused, his fingers drumming on the table next to his long-since-cold cup of coffee. "Guess I'm just...Thinkin' hard on the past is all."

"It is alright to mourn them, you always were closer to them than I was."

"I know it's alright, hell, I-" he shook his head, his inorganic hand tugging tightly at his hair almost too roughly. "I guess I just miss them, is all. Been a long twenty years, hell of a way ta lose two of the best soldiers I knew. Still think about it, now and then. Try to wonder where exactly it all went pear shaped and screwy. If," he licked his lips, turning his head away to study a mark on the table. "If I could'a done more ta help them."

"Do you feel at fault?"

A rough bark of laughter tore from Jesse's throat. "Always do," he grumbled. "Technically the one in charge right now, senior-most member of the original Overwatch. Guess it comes with the territory, Jack was always stressed ta hell and back-" he pressed both of his mismatched palms over his face, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Back then I was just the dumbass kid who got scooped fer bein' a part a' somethin' he didn't understand...I never really outgrew the dumbass part."

He stood abruptly, shaking off the beginning of the question Genji wanted to ask. "I'm gonna go practice some, keep myself in better shape. If I'm needin' a rescue, it's cause I missed somethin'."

Genji watched him leave, his cup abandoned on the table and his hat being pressed carefully onto his head. "I take it that you heard all of that," he paused, turning his head towards the other door into the room. "Hanzo?"

"I did," Hanzo stepped into the room slowly, his eyes pinned on the door McCree had left the room through. 

"What will you do, having heard that?" 

Hanzo blinked at him, then settled into the seat Jesse had gotten up from. "I am still planning. What is it that weighs upon him so heavily?"

"When I joined Overwatch, Jesse was already twenty-three," Genji said instead of answering directly. "From what I have heard, he had been an active agent for six years at that point. The man who changed his entire life, who, in his words, saved it for something better, was something of a father figure to him. I do not betray a confidence here, he would tell you this on his own, brother."

"Something better," Hanzo muttered as he stared at the rim of Jesse's mug, frowning. "Has he mentioned what that is?"

"I suspect that he means Overwatch, to an extent, as well as saving the lives of those who cannot defend themselves," Genji settled into a perch on the bench across the table from his brother. "But the sorrow he carries, it is enduring, it is overwhelming, and it is almost alive in how it attempts to devour him. The day we lost Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison is coming up in the calendar once more."

Hanzo nodded, tracing the edges of his tattoo along his wrist with his thumb.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Genji's hand settled gently on the back of his, his eyes pinned on the point of connection before rising to the green glow of Genji's visor. "Treat him kindly, brother. He has lost many in his life and from the way I have heard him tell it, those he lost in the fall of Overwatch meant the most."

He let his brother go, let his hand fall to the tabletop when Hanzo pulled away

"Be gentle with him, Hanzo. He acts rough and ill-mannered, but I suspect that there is something else inside of him."

Standing slowly once more, Hanzo ran his hands down the front of his shirt. Inside the base, no mission at hand, he wore a silver-gray shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hakama had been traded out for a pair of dark blue athletic pants that clung to the curves of his legs, making the transition between flesh and prosthetic look odd. "I came to find you tonight to tell you something," he said quietly, almost ashamed as he looked anywhere but at his brother.

"Has something gone wrong?"

For a moment, they were children again, together in a unified front against everything that scared them. The shadows, the men their father did business with, the storm outside their window, the world surrounding them.

It seemed, however, that Hanzo was the one who needed protecting this time.

"In a way," he began slowly, rubbing his left thumb into the palm of his right hand. "It is a way in which Jesse McCree and I have something more in common than simply a stubborn mind."

"Or your age," Genji prodded gently, a familiar mocking that did a lot to put Hanzo at ease.

Still.

He glared at Genji for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he frowned at him. The only reply he got was a small laugh, the light of Genji's visor going bright for a second. "After our..." he swallowed, mouth suddenly dry and impossible to speak through. "I have been told of the circumstances surrounding your survival," he tried instead. Those words were easier, strangely. "After that, there was something that happened."

Sometime between his arrival and now, he had switched to their native language. It might have said something that he didn't know when the switch had occurred.

Genji's body language was difficult to read clearly, Hanzo still not used to deciphering the mechanical form that had replaced the easy-to-read flesh his brother had once been. "Hanzo?" he asked softly.

The athletic pants were pulled closed around his knees, under the edges of the prosthetics. Hanzo let one of his hands drift downwards, the tips of his fingers brushing his thigh. "They...After what I did to you, I ran away," he whispered. "As far away as I could go, until the dragons, still staying with me even after _what I did to you_ , felt calm underneath my skin once more."

Genji sat up straight, his entire body tensed now. "What did they do to you? No one escapes from the Yakuza so easily, brother. Not even one of their own."

"They," Hanzo frowned, then settled back on the bench, one hand cupping around the clasp of his prosthetic. "They considered me to have failed them. They sent me to murder my own brother, my remaining family, and then when I ran away..." he dropped his gaze to the tabletop again. Genji's hand snuck across the table, laying loosely flat on the surface as he waited for Hanzo to find the words he wanted to use. His metal fingers held Hanzo's flesh ones tightly, an anchor in the storm inside his head. 

"What did they do to you?"

Hanzo looked up, his dark eyes distant as he focused on Genji's shoulder. "A man cannot run if his legs have been taken," he whispered.

"No," Genji's voice was just as quiet, anger and sadness fighting for prominence as he sat up straighter. "No, Hanzo, they-"

He went silent as Hanzo nodded.

In an instant, hesitation gone, he had clambered over the table to sit next to his brother. Still holding his hand, his grip tighter and almost painful, he dragged Hanzo into a hug. "I do not think that you ever meant harm to me," he said quietly, bracing his chin on his brother's shoulder, his free arm wrapping around his back. "Because the oldest memories I have are of you protecting me."

Hanzo let his head drop until his forehead was pressed against Genji's shoulder. "I should never have stopped."

"I should have tried to do the same in return," Genji pulled back, let his brother go with one hand as he reached up to pull off his visor in front of him for only the second time ever. His face was scarred just the same, less startling to Hanzo now that he knew, and his eyes were a barely lighter shade of the same dark brown, but it was the face Hanzo remembered. It was his little brother, alive and breathing in front of him.

"I believe we have both misstepped," Hanzo muttered. "Myself far more than you."

"We are both still alive," Genji's eyes closed slightly with the shape of his smile. "Perhaps that can be taken as a new beginning."

They paused, the words sinking in.

"I would like that," Hanzo whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is where I cackle evilly because I have been planning this for a while. Hanzo, in this story, had not told Genji or anyone about his prosthetics until McCree had to take care of drunken Hanzo.
> 
> Suffer with me, my brain came up with an idea and wanted to share the pain.
> 
> Not going to lie, sort of started crying while writing this chapter. Also, fifty points to the first person who recognizes all the chapter titles and the story title all together.


	8. Wounds Upon Yourself

"You have spoken of not climbing down the neck of a bottle," Hanzo said as an announcement of is arrival. "Do you have plans to do that yourself?"

Jesse looked over at him, still rolling the bottle of tequila in his hands back and forth. "Nah," he said quietly. "This ain't my favorite kind. Prefer somethin' else, this stuff always tasted too bitter fer me. 'Sides," he held it up, showing Hanzo the label. "I'm not gonna be a hypocrite. Well, I am in a few ways and not in others."

He settled the bottle back on the table in front of him. "Assumin' ya heard me and Genji talkin' 'bout our history."

The practice room was empty except for them, Jesse's voice echoing slightly.

"Yes," Hanzo answered truthfully, slowly settling into a seat on the other side of the table from him, folding his hands together on the surface of it. "You were aware of my presence?"

"Ain't as dumb as I look, darlin'."

"And you do not look dumb," the older man shot back quickly, smirking when brown eyes focused on him. "There is nothing about you that seems less intelligent. You are a good shot, stealthy when it is needed and necessary, skilled in many ways. You were able to identify and eliminate a threat before it was something that could kill your teammates. You are, without a doubt," he took a deep breath. "You are one of the most skilled agents here, Jesse McCree."

"Well," Jesse's face went bright red. "Shucks darlin', didn't think you were payin' that close attention."

"Everything about you is carefully crafted to present a certain image to onlookers. The cowboy outfit is something you truly enjoy but I suspect it also lowers enemies guards."

"They ain't expectin' a fully dressed cowboy, and once they see the outfit they start thinkin' I'm gonna be the easiest target," Jesse grinned, his hands still settled around the bottle of tequila but loosely, like he had forgotten it was there. "Loud and obvious, right?"

"And then you sneak up on them or simply put a bullet in their head from three dozen yards away," Hanzo propped his chin in one hand. "If I may, what is the tequila for? You have said that you do not like it."

"...You 'member how I told you we lost some people?"

"Yes?"

Jesse picked the bottle back up, ran his thumb over the label gently. "Reyes had a favorite. This was it. Every year, when we get 'bout this time, I pour a couple a' shots and set them out for him. Twice a year, if I can remember to pick up a bottle for Dia De Los Muertos. Was other stuff he liked more, so when I put together a small altar and set out his favorites, sometimes the tequila don't make it into the spread."

Hanzo's head tilted to one side, a gentle arch to his eyebrow. "You honor him well."

"Course I do," Jesse's face crumpled slightly, the bottle pressed against his chest for a moment. "Losing him was like...Losing my dad all over again. Well," he paused, hummed for a second before shaking his head. "More like losing my mom all over again."

"Your mother rather than you father?"

It was a gentle nudge, genuine curiosity. Hanzo guessed that must have been the reason that Jesse allowed the question and answered it.

"My dad wasn't...Things were rough growin' up. Poor family, I grew up in Mexico, mom and dad made what they could as far as money went. Typical tragedy, y'know the cliche. Movies show it a lot, never really did find it funny," he sighed and shook his head before going on. "When I was about seven, my dad broke his back. Too poor for surgery, too poor for painkillers besides a bottle of whiskey and ignoring the world fer a bit. He became the town drunk, mouthed off to the people who could and would kill someone just for lookin' at them funny. By the time someone actually went through with it, he was barely anythin' more than a memory. 

"The man they killed hadn't been my dad in a long time. I think it must've been the pain that caused him to go after them like that. He just," Jesse shrugged, still focused on the bottle sitting in front of him. "When he finally died I was twelve. He's where I get the native from," he gestured at his skin tone. "He was half, his mom a member of the Coushatta I think. They died before I was born, one of the early Omnic skirmishes."

"What happened to twelve-year-old Jesse then?" Hanzo sat back a little, allowing himself to be a sounding board for the man who clearly needed to talk to someone. If it allowed Jesse to feel better, less stressed and more able to handle his problems, then he would listen to him ramble about the moon being made of cheese.

It did not hurt that the other man had a smooth voice, easy to listen to in the first place.

"The dumb fool went off and joined up with a gang a year later," Jesse smiles at him, a sadness lingering behind his eyes. "So why'd you come find me? Thought you were there ta see yer brother."

"I was," Hanzo began slowly, pulling his chin out of his hand and splaying the tattooed one across the tabletop. Jesse's eyes went to trace the tattoo along his wrist, followed it up his arm. "He and I were in need of some..."

"Clearing the air?"

"Clarity."

"I'd say those are almost the same thing," Jesse mimicked Hanzo's actions, a perfect mirror with his prosthetic arm. Elbow angled just so, fingers relaxed loosely on the wood, a perfect mimic. "Maybe just a little different."

"Perhaps."

The room was silent, the air between them almost warm and comfortable. Jesse studied Hanzo's face, looked for a moment like he wanted to reach forward and put a hand on his cheek. 

Hanzo would have let him.

"If we may return to the story of the fool for a moment," Hanzo spoke quietly, his cheeks flushed a gentle pink. "Was the gang he joined where he got his gun?"

"Nah," Jesse laughed. "His Abuela got it for him. Gave it to him for his thirteenth birthday, didn't know he'd go off and do some dumb thing like that with it. According to her, it'd been his grandfather's."

"His mother's parents, I assume?"

"Yeah, ya got the right of it there, samurai. Dad's parents died 'fore I was born, mom's parents were 'round till I was fourteen and sixteen. Abuela was the one who died when I was sixteen. Lived just long enough to see all my stupid in one long streak of bad decisions. She," he laughed bitterly, looking towards the targets on the opposite wall. "She never got ta see me get better."

"I assume she would be proud of you now," Hanzo's mouth was twisted into an almost smile, his eyes warm and inviting. "You have said you made up for some of what you've done. A transformation like yours is not easily done. True strength of mind and character is necessary to change who you were."

Jesse nodded slowly, meeting Hanzo's eyes, a smile on his own face. "Guess so," he groaned when he stood, stretching slowly. "Thanks fer lettin' me talk, feels good ta get some a' that out. Didn't even know I needed to say it."

"It was no trouble," Hanzo assured him, his face still a warm, pink color as he spied the small band of skin leading into Jesse's collar, the soft curl of hair peeking out from under his shirt. He had kept himself fit even while on the run, that much was obvious. There may have been a bit of fat over the muscles of his stomach, but it wouldn't have been more than enough to make him feel good to press against. 

He cleared his throat, blinked a few times.

It seemed, fortunately, that Jesse had not noticed his lapse in attention. "Yer a good listener," he was saying as he left the bottle on the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so...
> 
> Native/Mexican McCree, sad backstory and Hanzo who is literally hopped up on adrenaline and not giving a fuck realizing that Jesse McCree is goddamned attractive to him. Once he settles down, he'll realize how bold he was being and be mortified.
> 
> Until then, he wants to get to know more about Jesse. So y'all get to learn more about my version of him. Hopefully it was enjoyable.


	9. If You've Got Nothing Left

It's a month later, several missions later, when Jesse notices it.

Hanzo, the oldest son of the Shimada clan, son of a Yakuza boss, the man that had pissed him off so much, in the beginning, is goddamned amazing. He's beautiful, of course, he'd always known that. Fit body, dark eyes, good looking to a classic 'T', but there's just something about him now. Maybe it's because he knows what the man looks like when he's laughing now. Or maybe it's because he knows what Hanzo thinks when he's all quiet. 

They've been drinking buddies for a while now, and he's proud to admit that he's the reason the other man has laughed. A couple of times, actually. He has cracked the tough exterior to find the actual man inside of it, the armor has been worn through and he _likes_ what he sees.

Jesse sighs as he scratches his fingers idly across his stomach, grumbles wordlessly as he stares up at his ceiling. 

Thinking about Hanzo makes his mind go hazy in the sort of way that reminds him of summer and warmth and all that's good. He knows it isn't quite-

A voice breaks through in his thoughts, a memory of Gabriel Reyes grinning like the son of a bitch that he was. 

_"What," he snorts quietly, "You want me to tell you what I like most about Morrison? 'Cause that answer'd make you blush, niño."_

_"I don't!"_

_Eighteen-year-old Jesse had been full of sarcasm and quick to be embarrassed about anything more personal than a handshake. Intimacy and loving gestures had become long-since alien to him._

_"Then what?" Gabriel took a sip of his coffee, swirled the cup around to try and mix the dregs in with the sugar he had dumped into it earlier. "What're you looking for, McCree? He and I just fit, that's really all there is to it. Hard to understand I guess, even harder to explain."_

_Jesse had shrugged, his hands still a matching set as they clutched the edge of the table in front of him. There was a bruise all the way from his elbow to his wrist, a fall he'd taken luckily not breaking his arm entirely. He prodded at it, a look of concentration and frustration on his face. "I just want ta know how it even happened, sir. Ain't seemin' like you two get along most a' the time."_

_"We get along," Gabriel set down his coffee, the humor disappearing from his eyes. "Kid, c'mon, look at me. Escúchame, alright? We get along. Most of our getting along is out of the public eye, the people in charge get all worried about us getting along too well. There's a mile of paperwork to get through to be together and still work together."_

_"Why?"_

_"They're worried about the missions we go on," Reyes had answered immediately, one hand curling tightly around the cup. The paper crinkled slightly, his knuckles going almost white. "They think we don't know how to separate mission from personal."_

_"That's bullshit."_

_"Watch your fucking language, kid."_

_Jesse rolled his eyes. "But it is!"_

_"Yeah, don't we all know it. But," he chuckled, shaking his head as he put his chin into one hand, staring off into the distance. A softer light, almost a glow, entered his eyes. "He's worth it, though. He's worth this and that and a lot more."_

_"...You really do like him, huh? Friend a' mine, used ta be a friend, got that same look in his eyes when he talked 'bout a girl a' his."_

_"Kid, this isn't me 'liking' him," Gabriel shook his head slowly. "This is about me being so stupid over him. My white bread who put the fucking stars in the sky for me."_

_"...Stupid over him?"_

_This time, Gabriel was the one shaking his head. "Kind of in love with him."_

_He laughed at the face Jesse made, the younger man hunching over and pulling his hat over his eyes. "I'll tell you when you're older," he stood up and patted the top of Jesse's hat, pushing it further into his face._

_"I'm an adult, damn it!"_

_"Sure you are," Gabriel grinned as he stepped away from the table. "Are we gonna have to talk about the birds and the bees? Do I need to tell you about the," he raised his free hand, fingers splayed as he made a stupid face. "Facts of Life!"_

_"Damn it, Reyes, get back here!" Jesse screeched as he tried to stand up and run after him, stumbling over the bench he'd been sitting on and nearly faceplanting on the floor._

_Gabriel darted away, "Come get me then, kid! Can't punch what you can't catch!"_

Back in the present, Jesse covers his face with his mismatched hands and groans. He's about thirty years too old for this drama of his. His body is starting to ache with his actions and he's only forty-three goddamned years old.

"Too old," he grumbles into the quiet of his room. "To be actin' like a teenager with a damn crush."

He let his arms drop to either side, his eyes still closed as he sighed.

After a moment, he bolted upright, his eyes wide and his chest heaving. "Shit," he hissed into the silence. 

Crushes were brief things, quickly fading. He knew what those felt like. Lust couldn't be sustained for so long without anything in return. 

This thing, what he was feeling...

"Shit," he swore again. "Had ta go and fall in love with the goddamned samurai, didn't I?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehehehehe, sorry McCree. Memories of a long-dead mentor make you realise things, huh?
> 
> Also: Blizzard has no idea how to timeline, so I am ignoring theirs and making my own. McCree is 43, Hanzo is 44. This makes Genji 40. Widowmaker is about 42 or so. This entire series went pretty AU a while ago, so I'm kind of calling it justified that I refuse their timeline.


	10. Advice From a Friend

Now it was Jesse McCree avoiding Hanzo.

The frustration in Hanzo's eyes as he watched Jesse turn on his heel and practically bolt out of the room was obvious, even to someone who hadn't grown up with Hanzo as an older brother. The dark brown was muted into sorrow by the loss of the other man's presence.

Genji felt like he was going to scream.

McCree was a good man these days. His start in the world had been rough, his personality an all or nothing sort of thing, but he was a good man. Genji had worked alongside him, had known nothing but some of the best sides of the man and it was frustrating to not understand now. There was fear in his face as he had spotted Hanzo and it made Genji itch to know why.

So, of course, he followed him.

McCree's path took him outside, took him to the small garden that Lena tended to when she could and Winston helped with when she couldn't. A mug of coffee held in his prosthetic hand, his face tired and his eyes exhausted, Jesse sat down on the large boulder off to one side.

"Genji," he muttered just loud enough to be heard. "Ain't a time when I want followin'."

He had spotted him long before. 

Of course he had. Jesse was a marksman, could probably shoot a bullseye on a target several hundred yards away. On top of his considerable skills, he was no idiot.

"You fled the room once my brother entered it," he said instead of pretending to be shocked. "I wanted to know your reasons. Perhaps he and you have come into conflict once more? I have told you to leave the matter of our shared history alone, Jesse."

"It ain't that."

"Then what is it? I can think of no reason to avoid him, not when he speaks highly of you as a person and even seems to admire your strengths, you-"

Jesse's face was an almost unpleasant bright red as he practically curled into himself. He hid his blush behind the mug of coffee, but it was too late. "He says that?" he muttered, his eyes pointedly focused anywhere but on Genji.

Genji simply stared at him, the light of his visor dimming and brightening as he stood there. "You," he said after a long minute or two of silence. "You like him."

"Genji,"

"You like my brother."

" _Genji_."

"You blush as if you were attempting to transform into a tomato. You like my brother!"

" ** _Genji!_** " Jesse turned even redder, looking around hurriedly to see if anyone was listening or even standing within a distance of seeing them. There was no one and the cowboy sagged into his rocky perch with relief set into his bones. "Don't go shoutin' it fer the world ta hear, 'kay? Yer brother's a fine lookin' man, any fool with eyes could see that."

The ninja pretended to gag for a moment, amusement obvious in the set of his shoulders, the curve of his spine, the hand lifted to his mouth as if to cover a laugh that never tumbled from ruined lips. "He has the beauty of our family, yes," he agreed. "His looks are from our mother, the growth of a beard a barrier between him and his memories of her."

His amusement died quickly, his posture wilting somewhat. "He should never have been the son of a Yakuza. Had I not been contacted by Overwatch, I would have been alright in their world. No contact with Overwatch would have meant that I would never have learned what I was missing," he shrugged, his chin tilting down like he was paying respect. "Zenyatta," was all the response he needed to give to Jesse's confused raising of an eyebrow. "If left to be there, I would have been the heir they wanted. Hanzo..." The following sigh sounded mechanical. "Hanzo never took to it. He was never the type to spill blood in vengeance or anger, not unless there was a reason. If someone he cared for was in danger maybe then would he lift a weapon to end a life."

"...Is that how ya knew somethin' was wrong with him?"

"Yes," Genji stepped closer, kneeling on the ground. His hands curled together in his lap as the wind played with the end of the ribbon attached to his helmet. "My brother was always my protector. I suppose as I grew older, I grew too used to it. I assumed he would be there to help me," he turned to look at Jesse. "This is how I knew something was wrong because he was under an amount of pressure I had never known."

"To be able ta lift his bow against ya," Jesse shook his head. "Do I need ta go apologize ta him again? Cause fuck, this ain't the best history he's got goin' here. If I understand it right, they forced him ta-"

"They did," Genji nodded quickly. "I believe that they found information about Overwatch contacting me and forced his hand. The result," he waved a hand at himself. "Is what you see before you."

He stood slowly, the pressed a firm hand against Jesse's shoulder. "If something is to happen between the two of you," he told him quietly. "You must take care of him. For all that he is iron, my brother is fragile at heart."

Jesse gaped at him, still loosely holding the mug of coffee in his right hand. "What-"

Genji was already walking away, but he paused for a second. "Oh, and Jesse."

"Yeah?"

"My brother did not lift his bow against me."

A small flood of relief coursed through Jesse then, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah?"

"The night he thought he killed me was the last night he ever used his swords."

With that, words hanging in the air, information poised to make everything fall, Genji sped away, leaping to climb into a window of the base that Jesse recognized as Zenyatta's room.

"Well," he muttered, chugging the rest of his now-somewhat-cold coffee. "Shit."


	11. Bury Your Heart

There was a commotion in the hallway, a blockade of people preventing Jesse from getting back to his room.

Another mission down, another objective accomplished, another payload protected. Talon wasn't getting this one, he thought as he slipped his hands into his pockets. He was blocked from going any further by one of the newest members, Zaryanova if he remembered right.

Her broad shoulders were impossible to see over.

"'Scuse me sweetheart, but what in the name a' hell is goin' on?"

She turned to look at him, pushing her pink hair out of her face. "Is Soldier: 76, he has brought Reaper back to base as a prisoner. It is," she frowned, glancing back over the crowd of agents. There weren't many, it could barely be called a crowd in the first place, but it felt like it warranted the title anyway. "It is worrying." 

She reached out to steady another of the new agents, a young woman named Hana Song, when the group of people shifted and she nearly fell over.

The shift allowed him a view of the two, Soldier: 76's mask glinting in the soft lighting of the hall. He was carrying what looked to be either an unconscious or paralyzed Reaper over his shoulders. Fireman's carry, near perfect form of it. 

For a moment, it reminded him of Morrison and Reyes.

There'd been a day, once, where the two of them had been joking around. Morrison had leaned down, wrapped his arm around Reyes' legs and hefted him over his shoulders, laughing the entire time. Reyes had sworn at him in Spanish and in English, a mixture of phrases that would have earned him a mouth cleaning if his abuela could have heard it.

That had been one of the last good days for a long while.

The memory made his chest ache as he watched the two, 76's steps taking him down the hallway after Winston's loping gait. Reaper's head turned slightly, one hand clenching as he seemed to be trying to wake up from whatever it was that the soldier had shot him up with.

"McCree," he heard Winston call down the hallway to him. "I will want to speak with you after I process our new prisoner."

 

It was them.

Holy fuck, shout it to the heavens, scream until his lungs gave out, it was _them_. Somehow, despite a shared grave with their names on it, Gabriel Reyes and Jack Morrison had _survived_ an entire building exploding around them and falling on top of them. He'd been there for the funerals, wore the suit he'd joked about wearing to their wedding. For the first time in a long time, he'd left his hat at home. 

Their coffins had been almost empty, he remembered now. Filled only with the letters from grateful citizens who'd wanted to say a final goodbye.  
Jesse scrubbed his hand down his face and groaned.

He didn't want to think anymore. Not about this, not about anything, especially not about the men who had replaced the father he'd once lost. It'd been more than a couple of superior officers that had disappeared from his life. Once Overwatch fell, the leaders of it dead, he'd lost an entire family. Ana Amari had been bad enough to lose, she'd left behind her daughter and him and she'd always told him that he was the son she hadn't given birth to but claimed all the same.

Gabriel Reyes had been one of the first people to see value in his existence. 

Hell, he even owed Jack Morrison to some extent. He knew the man had helped smooth things over for his introduction to Overwatch, helped explain to the public that the teenager seen following Reyes around was indeed on their side. The two men had worked their asses off to keep his life intact and pulled him out of the early grave he'd been digging in Deadlock.

And they were both still here.

He stormed down the hallway, wiping roughly at his cheek and trying to ignore the water building up in his eyes. His prosthetic would need a looking over, he'd probably cracked some of the joints out of place when he slammed it into the table. 

Reyes, in handcuffs, in front of a version of Morrison that hadn't recognized either of them.

Morrison who'd simply asked which man was more important in his past, the heartache that'd caused in Reyes. The man had dropped most of the human looking face he'd been wearing, the skin had dissolved into smoke and smog, red eyes floating in the middle of it.

But he'd looked so sad when he'd reformed himself.

He brushed past someone, not even noticing who it was in his haste to get as far from Reyes and Morrison as he reasonably could.

 

Hanzo stared after Jesse for a long moment, his hands clenching as he worked his jaw frantically. 

The man had been crying.

In the brief glimpse of his face that he had managed to see, Jesse had been red-eyed and obviously upset. A brief moment of deliberation had him turning on his heel, the carpet below his feet muffling the noises of his prosthetics, and he followed the cowboy's path through the halls, hanging back far enough that he would not be seen as easily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, McCree is not going to have fun for a little while.


	12. The Storm Within You

The entire training room was a disaster zone.

As if some great and terrible storm had come rushing through, the targets had been rearranged to everywhere one man could potentially have put them if he had been adventurous enough, and every last one of them was riddled with bullet holes. The ones still in the shooting range were the same, blasted to nothing with the caliber of bullet that he knew McCree favored. There was a scattering of what looked to be the ruins of several chairs on the floor, possibly thrown about until shattered. 

In the middle of the destruction sat Jesse McCree.

His gun lay on the floor in front of him, his mismatched hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt as he howled his anguish soundlessly. There were tears on his face, his eyes screwed shut as he curled in on himself. 

To Hanzo, it looked as if he were feeling the end of his world. He could sympathize, knew how it felt to find someone returned from the dead when they had been thought to be gone forever.

"McCree," he addressed him at first, then shook his head. "Jesse," he spoke, his tone softer.

The man's eyes opened, sorrow-darkened brown staring back at him, tears still running down his bristled cheeks. "Han," he muttered, wiping furiously at his face. "What're ya doin' in here right now?" he grinned, the sadness pushed behind a hasty mask of his usual good humor. "Place was in need a' some renovations, too dusty and old and it weren't in good condition anyway."

 _Too full of old memories_ whispered a voice in Hanzo's mind. It sounded suspiciously like Genji.

Kneeling down on the floor in front of him, he leaned in close to Jesse."I see you have taken the project into your own hands," Hanzo played along for a moment. "And I suppose your angry steps and running have to do with the state of our training room?"

"I-"

Hanzo waited as Jesse tried to say something, anything, whatever he could to excuse his current state. His chest heaved once, then twice, then again. When he couldn't seem to get the words out, Hanzo leaned in and pressed the pad of his thumb against a falling tear, gently wiping it off Jesse's face. 

"It's Reyes and Morrison," the cowboy managed at last. "They're both still alive and it ain't somethin' either a' them told me. Morrison's got his head screwed on wrong, ain't really in there no more," he shuddered, leaned into Hanzo's hand. "Amnesia, got himself locked outta his own house in a way."

"And Reyes?"

"Fucker just plain didn't tell me he was still 'live," he keened, a desperate sound as he shuddered once more. "Idiota, mi corazón no puede llevarlo, I've lost so _goddamned many_ people..."

Curling a careful hand into the hair on the back of his head, Hanzo pulled gently, pressing the side of Jesse's face into his shoulder. Jesse went willingly, his organic hand twisting in the fabric of Hanzo's shirt. "I just want ta stop losin' people," he muttered, the scratch of his beard against Hanzo's neck as he spoke. 

"...Hanzo?" his voice was rough when he spoke again, the fabric under his face soaked with tears. "How'd'ya know?"

"To come find you?"

"Yeah."

"I was in the hallway when you were intent on fleeing whatever had made you unhappy. I wished to know what was wrong," he pressed soothing little circles into Jesse's scalp. "On my way to find you, Winston stopped me and asked me if I had seen you. I told him that I had."

"What'd he tell ya?"

"He told me that there were two people long assumed deceased," Hanzo pressed his cheek against the top of Jesse's head. "And that you had been one of the closest to them before their assumed death."

"Mmm."

They sat there for a while longer, Hanzo's fingers brushing gently through Jesse's hair.

"Han?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for being here fer me, means a lot."

Hanzo nodded slowly, his own eyes slipping halfway closed. "I would not be anywhere else in this moment," he told the man. His heart was somehow beating at a normal pace instead of trying to force itself out of his chest from nerves and excitement. Jesse was in anguish, his entire body wracked with grief and his mind torn by the very same thing but Hanzo could not help it.

The younger man's breath evened out soon enough, exhaustion pulling him from consciousness, his body warm and heavy in Hanzo's arms.

It was not simply desire, he knew it now.

He had fallen in love with Jesse McCree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One: Sad McCree. Yay?
> 
> Two: Third chapter update for the night, I hope you all are enjoying this.
> 
> Three: This story is officially in my top five of all time according to my Ao3 stats. Thank you guys so much.


	13. I Walk Into The Room

Hand-to-hand training with Hanzo might have been a mistake.

Hanzo's hair ribbon had been removed for the spar, secured by a hair tie instead. He'd smirked when Jesse had brought it up, simply shrugging his shoulders and wrapping the bandages around his hands. "There is no need to give you an advantage," he had explained. "I do not wish to be brought down by your style of 'fighting dirty', as you call it."

"Aw, darlin', I wouldn't do that to ya," he grinned, stretching his arm slowly. "Muss yer hair? Awfully fond a' the salt an' pepper, don't wanna rip it out."

Hanzo's cheeks turned a soft pink and Jesse nearly swore out loud at the sight of it. The man was pretty enough as it was, didn't need to make him sweeter looking. "'Sides," his grin wavered for a moment, his focus drawn as Hanzo pulled off his robe thing, exposing both sides of his chest. "Plenty other stuff to focus on inna fight."

He wore a tank top and a pair of soft pants, his feet bare, and he wiggled his toes against the mat. "Been a while since I sparred jus' ta spar."

"The sensations will be overwhelming, I am sure," Hanzo's humor was drier than a desert and Jesse loved it. "You keep yourself constantly encased in fabric, I would not be surprised if the feeling of bare feet is new to you. I suspect, often, that you were born wearing your boots."

"Nah," Jesse laughed. He was beginning to find that there was nothing about Hanzo that he didn't love. If this kept up, he'd be in a whole world of trouble. "Most a' me bein' a kid was spent barefoot."

"Was it?" Hanzo stretched as well, the muscles in his arms flexing with the movements in a way that made Jesse want to lick his lips. "I suppose one must learn something new every day."

They both fell into starting positions, feet spread and hands at the ready.

"Now," Hanzo smirked at him, his dark eyes flashing dangerously as he shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Come at me with all you have. We have not all day for bantering, after all."

"Ya outta sorts already, darlin'? Sounded like one too many 'alls' in there fer yer normal speaking."

"Distractions in a fight are dangerous, Jesse. Focusing on your enemy's speech could get you killed," Hanzo slipped forward, his body moving in a smooth arc around Jesse, almost landing a hit on his shoulder. Jesse danced away at the last second, spinning around on his heel and landing in a defensive pose a few feet away.

They circled around, rabbit-quick punches and kicks being thrown off by the other until they fell back into their circling. 

A small noise above them made Jesse pause for a moment, almost long enough for Hanzo to get a painful hit against his jaw, but the real damage was done when Reyes' voice echoed across the training arena. The words were in Spanish but it took no time for Jesse to translate them. He'd heard them often enough before when Reyes had teased Morrison, but he'd never thought they'd be directed at him.

"Jesse, deja de coquetear!"

With only enough time to think an obscenity he wanted to screech at the man, he found himself falling and then pinned to the floor. Hanzo's weight on his back was warm and steadying, the hard lines of his prosthetics pushing into his sides. He flailed indignantly, his arms tapping the mat beneath them a couple of times as he tried ineffectively to get the man to budge.

Sure, there were ways he could remove the samurai from his back, but doing so would probably stop the small fit of laughter he could feel rumbling through Hanzo's body.

"I have told you before," Hanzo was smirking, he knew it, and it only made him struggle a little harder to get him off. Even when he'd unfairly lost to him in a sparring match, the man was attractive. "Distractions are dangerous."

"Oh, what, I'm supposed to jus' let him yell that at me? Them's fighting words, Gabriel Reyes, y'hear me?!" Jesse squirmed. "Hey, Hanzo? Y'gonna let me up, darlin'?"

"Perhaps," the samurai's voice was level, dry humor returning. "Are you going to stop being distracted when we spar?"

"...Y'know I can't promise that."

"Then you know I cannot promise you your freedom. You have asked me to help you with your hand-to-hand combat. I cannot teach an unwilling student."

Above them, Jesse could hear Reyes laughing and it almost felt like home again. After a few more moments of struggling, he sighed and gave up. Folding his arms under his head, he smiled. "Who's he talkin' ta?"

"The soldier," Hanzo replied quietly. 

"Shit, twenty years and one a' the first things he does is go talk ta Morrison," Jesse rolled his eyes. "Of course. When they weren't plain talkin' they were always flirtin' and if they weren't doin' that then they were fightin'. I swear, hand ta God, that they got off on the fightin' and the most important everythin' about their lives were the need ta be around each other."

He sighed, then stretched his arms out in front of himself and pushed upwards quickly.

Hanzo shifted suddenly, almost throwing himself forward with one hand wrapped around Jesse's bicep. "You could have gotten up at any time," he accused. 

"Could have," Jesse grinned, bucking him before flipping over and dropping back to the mat. Hanzo dropped with him, sprawling across his chest almost ungracefully. It wasn't possibly for the man to look anything but graceful, Jesse thought as he watched dark eyes blink slowly, confusion obvious for once.

 _Shit_ , he thought as he watched Hanzo lever himself up slightly. 

They were pressed close, their bodies hot from sparring and their skin slick with sweat as their faces were too close for anything other than pressing closer and-

Hanzo's mouth quirked into a small smile. "Perhaps," he spoke quietly, his arms pushing him further from Jesse's face, away from the intimate heat of sharing every breath. "We should consider our spar over. An audience distracts, after all."

"Yeah," Jesse managed to bite the word out despite the sense of loss washing over him with every inch that Hanzo slipped back.

The shorter man found his footing first and offered a hand to Jesse to help him to his feet. "Thanks," Jesse found himself saying despite the unhappy whine he wanted to let out. 

A short bow from the man made him want to pull him close again.

"You fight well for a distracted man, Jesse."

"Aw, thank- Hey, wait!" he made a face as Hanzo laughed and turned from him, his steps quick and balanced despite the odd speed he was keeping up. "Darlin', what in the hell does that mean?"

The room echoed with his shout and Hanzo's laughter as he chased after him.

Above the arena, on the balcony, Genji stood quietly, watching them go. His shoulders shook as he fought to contain his own laughter, one hand pressed over his mask as if that would muffle it any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is here Genji once more earns the tag about him.
> 
> And here's where Hanzo and Jesse should have just goddamn kissed.


	14. And He Became Human (Clearly See The World)

The transport was nearly silent as they rode back to headquarters. 

Genji was curled against Zenyatta's side, both of his hands wrapped firmly around one of the Omnic's. His lights were going bright and dimming in a pattern that seemed to mimic breathing and Hanzo found himself almost following along. It was easy enough now, the fighting done and the captured people regained.

His entire body ached.

It was an ache he had forgotten long ago, the ache of something new. The last instance of it had been when his dragons had first appeared to him. This time, it seemed to be caused by the new level of power he could access with them. He and his brother had fought alongside each other for the first time in an age. To his right were people he could trust, to his left were people he hoped he would be able to trust. The soldier and Reaper were unconscious, pressed neatly against each other's stretchers as Mercy looked over the both of them.

To his immediate right sat Jesse.

The man was a pressing warmth at his side, an easy smile on his face even as he pressed a hand against a rib that had probably cracked early on. His steps had faltered for a moment, a single heart-stopping moment, on the edge of a rooftop as he had climbed the edge of it to stay on the same level as Hanzo. His brown eyes were just as warm as the rest of him, friendliness restored in the absence of a threat.

"Hey, Han," Jesse's voice was deeper than it usually was, exhaustion dragging at his words. "Yer thinkin' too much darlin'..."

"Today has been the cause of much thought," Hanzo answered quietly. He let himself lean into the taller man, let his heat wash over him. If he could have gotten away with it, he would have buried his face in Jesse's shoulder. "There is something I must speak with you about. When we return to the base," he nodded at his own words, his mind scattering in a thousand different directions as he tried to summon courage. 

Jesse nodded as well, his eyes half-closed. "Somethin' I've been meanin' ta say to ya too," he yawned and leaned back against the wall of the transport. 

His hand was curled on his knee, the back of it brushing Hanzo's thigh.

 

~

 

Waiting was rough.

Hanzo had told him that there was something he needed to say and he did want to give the samurai a chance to speak his peace and all, but goddamn it was nerve wracking to wait. The shorter man might have noticed his flirting wasn't all a joke, that he was actually trying to flirt with him. This talk of theirs might end with Jesse McCree's gravestone and an arrow filled body buried under six feet of dirt.

 _Shit_ , he thought as he scuffed the toe of his boot against the tile. 

The clock above his head was ticking obnoxiously loud and he wanted nothing more than to shoot it down. Maybe if it weren't ticking, time itself would stop and he could have a moment to scream until he felt better. 

Maybe Hanzo didn't want to kill him for being in love.

Jesse sighed as he let his head drop to the table. Returned to the base, patched up by the healers of the group, he was still as stupid as ever. Hanzo was a Shimada and that meant, at best, he'd be still on friendly terms with him once he'd pissed the samurai off.

Shit.

 

~

 

"You are panicking," Genji's voice was soft as he spoke from his perch in the window, their shared native language flowing as naturally as breathing. "You must breathe, brother."

Hanzo sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "There is nothing," he spoke back in kind, the words falling from him as he continued to glare into his minimal closet. "To wear for this sort of occasion. Everything is either training clothes or battle clothes."

"To see the day where I am not the one obsessed with clothing choices," Genji sighed dramatically, a hand splayed over his chest. He dropped onto his feet neatly, barely a sound being made as he moved across the room to survey his brother's clothing. "What is it that you are preparing for?"

His visor was dim as he seemed to study Hanzo. "Are you telling our friendly cowboy that you love him?" he questioned when only silence remained. 

A small noise of disbelief tore itself out of Hanzo's throat as his hands clenched together. His nails bit into the palms of his hands, the tattoo that wound around his entire arm glowing slightly. "There seems little reason for it," he said instead. "He is rash and rude and impulsive and...He is everything I had thought distasteful and off-putting. Somehow, when it comes to him, there is nothing about those traits that I dislike. He is loyal, his decisions often have a welcome outcome, and if he is rude to you then there is a reason for it."

He put a hand to his chest. "I suppose this is my answer to your questions, little brother," Hanzo's eyes were bright as he looked back at Genji. "Yes, I do love him, and yes, I am telling him tonight."

"You are as brave as ever," Genji's voice sounded like he was smiling. "Give me a moment."

He stepped around his brother and approached the closet, running his fingers gently over the hangers. "Wear this," he offered a shirt to Hanzo. "And these," he followed it with a pair of pants.

"Are you certain?"

"Hanzo," Genji began with a bit of a laugh. "Which of the two of us spent his teenage years chasing after people to bed? I know how to dress someone to make an impression. You know business wear, I know casual clothing. Areas of expertise."

Hanzo nodded, runnings his thumb over the fabric of the shirt. "Thank you," he whispered.

 

~

 

Jesse pulled at the collar of his shirt nervously, fiddled with the cuff where it lay over his prosthetic.

He was early, he'd known that from the moment he'd sat down, but he was nervous, goddamnit, he needed time to sit in the spot he'd be sitting in when he found out what this was about. His heart was beating unsteadily, a nervous twitch in his chest as he tried to keep himself calm. Hanzo and he were friends, right? Friends didn't just shove two giant dragons into each other's faces and then hide the body.

Did they?

"I can hear you thinking from halfway across the base," Fareeha's voice was almost teasing as she propped herself against the doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest and the small bandage above her eye was probably more for a reminder of the injury that had been there than any actual lingering pain. "What has you so knotted up inside, big brother?"

"Hanzo," he began, not really sure where he wanted his sentence to go.

When he didn't say anything else, Fareeha frowned, her fists clenching. "What did that-" she broke off, switching to Arabic as she snarled. 

"Hey now, lil' girl, don't you go cussin' like that!" Jesse laughed. "Ain't no need ta go off an' insult his mother like that, pretty sure she was a good person fer raisin' someone like him. All I meant was that he wanted to talk ta me 'bout somethin' and I ain't been so nervous since a grumpy man wearin' a uniform stomped into an interrogation room and yelled about me bein' a damn kid."

"He wants to talk with you then he can be straight forward and good about it," she grumbled, her mechanical hand whirring as she clenched it into a fist. "If he is not a decent man, then I will slit his throat and get rid of him myself."

"Uh, hey," Jesse raised an eyebrow. "Calm down lil' sis, he ain't evil. And, uh..." he cleared his throat. "'D prefer it if ya left him alive."

She stared at him, her eyebrows raised as his cheeks flushed.

"As long as he makes you happy, he will live under my watch," she said after a moment. "While he makes you happy and treats you well, he will be under my protection."

Jesse smiled at her. "He does. And if," he cleared his throat again, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. "I'm gonna tell him that. Y'mind clearin' out so that I can do so in peace?" he gestured at the chair across the small table from him. "Might be that I end up cryin' my eyes out tonight, but I still need ta talk to him."

Fareeha nodded and pushed herself off the doorframe, walking closer and pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Take care, big brother."

"You too, lil' sis'. Give our doctor a hug from me and never tell me what it is you two get up to together."

"I will and I won't!" she laughed as she walked away.

 

~

 

"Breathe, Hanzo, McCree is a good man, he will not judge you if this is not something he shares with you."

 

~

 

"Breathe, Jesse, ain't the time ta turn coward."

 

~

 

When Hanzo walked into the room, it was like the world stopped for a moment.  
He was dressed in a dark blue shirt, the edge of his tattoo just barely peeking out from underneath the cuff. His pants were dark colored jeans, probably something he'd never remembered he owned or that Genji had snuck into his wardrobe one day. His hair was down and Jesse felt himself shiver from the pure _wanting_ that passed through him.

Hanzo was gorgeous.

 

~

 

Jesse was beautiful.

His clothing was simple, a plaid shirt rolled up to his elbows, the fabric a dark red with a brighter red pattern. His legs were long, denim trousers curling around the edge of the muscle. The boots should have thrown the whole outfit into a level of ruffian but it made it seem so much more like him. His hair was combed for once, the ends curling up around his cheeks slightly.

Hanzo took a deep breath and tried to remember the words he wanted to say.

 

~

 

"Hey Han," Jesse began cautiously. "Y'said there was somethin' needin' talkin' about. I'm here, you're here, wanna talk?"

He pushed the seat opposite him out with his foot, waving for the other man to settle himself into it. "Well," he began before Hanzo could say anything. "I wanted ta talk too. I know if I let you talk first then I'll back down and act like a damn coward- I don't want to scare you off, but I just..."

"It is important to you, go first," Hanzo said almost urgently. "I do not mind it."

"Alright," Jesse nodded. "Almost wish I had a glass a' somethin' fer my nerves here, ain't an easy subject to talk about. Hell, you've seen me at what I consider my worst, so maybe this ain't so bad. I guess, I mean...I just..." he sighed and pressed his fingers into the bridge of his nose. "Damnit, why the hell's this so hard?"

Hanzo watched him, his eyes slightly widened as he waited. "Jesse?"

"Look, darlin', I been in love with you fer months now."

Jesse waited for the world to end around him, his shoulders slumped as he drooped in his seat. "There, I said it. Easy as pie, weren't fer the fact that pie ain't people and should never be people..." he muttered, his eyes slipping shut as he waited. "I mean, I just..."

"You have said that twice now," Hanzo's eyes were even wider now, his hands clenching together in his lap as he watched Jesse intently. 

"Yeah, I'm just tryin' ta figure out how ta put it into words."

"You can take your time," Hanzo laughed as he spoke, one hand coming up to cover his mouth. "Jesse McCree, wonderous man with a remarkable sense of timing. I wished to speak with you tonight for the same reason. I have loved you and I love you and I-" he pressed both of his hands over his mouth. "You are-"

"Wait, you- ?"

"Yes!"

Jesse stood up and practically threw himself around the table, catching his hip on a corner. "Darlin', you mean ta tell me," he began as he dropped to his knees in front of Hanzo. "That we're both just a lil' bit foolish about each other?"

He searched Hanzo's face for a moment, then moved closer to him. When they were a hands width apart, he stopped and waited. "Hanzo," he keened, his eyes bright with happiness.

Hanzo laughed, moving to close the distance and press his mouth to Jesse's, chaste kisses that soon were peppering the skin around his eyes and forehead. "I believe we were," he whispered as he and Jesse let themselves both laugh. 

"Good, 'cause I don't wanna let you go ever again," Jesse pressed closer once more, kissing Hanzo until they were both panting for air, lungs desperate for a choice to be made between affection and oxygen.

"Never," Hanzo promised. "Never!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus ends "Walk The Earth"!
> 
> I hope y'all enjoyed it and will continue to read the series as it goes. Currently working on the plot I've been excited to write since the very beginning of this series and I hope you'll enjoy it too. I also kind of hope you read my young McHanzo fic, "Love Me (Forever Sounds Good)". It's not in the continuity of this series but I'm kind of proud of it and it's them having been engaged since they were teenagers.  
> You've probably seen the comics floating around on Tumblr.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you all liked this story. If you did, maybe drop me a comment down below? I love hearing from you guys.  
> If you want to yell at me about headcanons and stuff then I am on Tumblr as Krasimer or LookUponMyWorksYeMighty. Feel free to send me a message at any time!

**Author's Note:**

> So, uh...  
> Remember when I said I had plans for this 'Verse still?
> 
> Because I still have those plans. Shiny new keyboard, let's do this.
> 
> Tell me what you thought, what you liked, what you didn't like? You know the drill. Want to yell about character headcanons and story ideas with me? Krasimer or LookUponMyWorksYeMighty on Tumblr!


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